


This is now – you can’t go back to how it was

by fawatson



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 11:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2227119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is good for Darryl and Pony but Soda is having a hard time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This is now – you can’t go back to how it was

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tjs_whatnot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** These are not my characters and I make no profit by them. 
> 
> **Recipient's Prompt/Request:** This is taken from the recipient's Yuletide 2013 letter as their Fic-Corner 2014 letter remained f-locked until after I had started writing: "I also have an unnatural affinity for Sodapop and would love something from his POV and even his own struggle with something." The story isn't told from Soda's point of view but he is the focus nonetheless. I hope it suits!
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters and make no profit by them.

It wasn’t until Darryl’s wedding that I realised Soda was miserable. I looked across at him where he was dancing with one of the bridesmaids. He was laughing at something she said, but for once I really _saw_ his eyes, and I just knew. I mean, they looked kind of dead. Once I realised, it came to me they’d looked that way for a while and I just couldn’t believe I hadn’t figured it out before now. People think I’m some sort of genius with loads of ‘insight’ (yep, that’s the word they use) ‘cause I wrote down the story of Dally and Johnny when I was just a kid in high school, and it got published in a magazine. But really it was just telling what happened. Actually I think I’m kind a dense about a lot of things. I mean – look at how Darry and me were at odds for all that time back before I was sick. Looking back, I can’t see how I missed the way he cares for me. But at the time?

Anyway, stupid I might have been for a few years, now that I realised, I started to see how he’d been pretty sad for a long while. To me it was kind of strange, you know, because things had been going pretty well for the family for a few years now. Cherry Valance came round to thank me after my story got published and she and Darry hit it off. She was at college by then, studying nursing. I don’t think her folks were that pleased about her having him as her boyfriend. I mean she’d gone to Tulsa University, so they sort of figured she’d get an ‘M.R.S’ with some nice college boy, not just bring home a degree. But in the end they came round; I guess it helped Darry had started taking night classes so he got his master carpenter ticket, and then started his own roofing business, which took off ‘cause he’s pretty good at everything he does. They got engaged when Cherry graduated, which was the same year I finished high school. I had a scholarship to go to Harvard, and you can bet that impressed her folks too, though there was never any chance of taking the place up, no matter how hard Darry worked. Anyway, I’d have missed family too much to go half way cross the country. Tulsa was good enough for me. I mean: I was the first person in our family to go to college so it was kind of a ‘big thing’ no matter where I ended up.

Anyway, all the while I was finishing high school, Soda was working at the garage and taking care of home. Darry kept on at him to take night classes too, kept saying he could get mechanics training. But Soda just wasn’t interested. He said he knew it all anyway (which is true – he kept Darry’s old banger going, not to mention half the hot rods the Shepard gang drove). There were always girls hanging round; and he and Steve went out with different ones every Saturday night. Once in a while he and Two-Bit would mix it up with some of Tim Shepard’s gang; he’d come home with a black eye, or scraped knuckles. Darry never fought after that last time against the Socs and you could see he wished Soda would stop, though he never said.

So, I was a freshman at uni and Darryl and Cherry were saving like crazy for the wedding and then about six months ago Two-Bit got real drunk, wrecked the car he’d hot-wired, and killed Steve in the process. Two-Bit was sent down for a long time and we all went to Steve’s funeral. It was a pretty sombre day, and the third time one of our group had been buried. I mean: we’re young. You’re not supposed to die at our age or to know people who die, unless they’re old and sick like Grandmas and Gramps. But we knew a _lot_ of people who’d died.

As I watched Soda flip that bridesmaid round the floor I figured out that must have hit Soda hard. Darry had Cherry; and I had a girlfriend too. Maybe Cathy and me weren’t serious like Darry and Cherry, but she was someone steady and reliable. I wouldn’t say we were deeply in love or nothing. But she’s fun and I really liked spending time with her. To me, the family had been getting along just fine. Except now I realised that wasn’t the way it had been for Soda. He’d just lost people, not _gained_ anyone. Sandy moved away a long time back and it hit him hard when she didn’t write him back. Johnny dies, Dally dies, Charlie dies – he was the guy ran the bar we used to play pool at - _Steve _dies, and Two-Bit was as good as dead for all we were going to see of him for the next ten years. You might wonder why I had time to think about all this stuff; but Cathy was off with Cherry helping her get changed, so I was just sitting it out, watching from the sidelines at Soda laughing and joking while he danced. He never used to be much for jokes - more the quiet thoughtful type, who worried in case someone's feelings got hurt. The band took a break. I watched as Soda made a beeline straight for the bar and downed a whiskey in two seconds flat. He never used to drink at _all_.__

__Pretty soon it was time for Darry and Cherry to leave on their honeymoon. They’d rented a cottage in the Ozarks for two weeks. His work crew had tied the usual cheesy tin cans and old shoe to the back bumper of Darry’s car so they made a racket as they drove off. Most of the guests went back in the church hall once they’d left but I stayed outside listening. Sure ‘nough, just round the corner Darry stopped and took off the cans. The party broke up pretty soon afterwards, so I took Cathy home. By the time I got back to the house Soda was already stretched out on his bed – passed out really. He hadn’t even bothered to fully undress._ _

__Once I started noticing, it seemed I couldn’t stop. Used to be Soda baked a lot; now we ran out of muffins and brownies half-way through the week. And he used to put the clean clothes in our drawers and now he just left them in piles on the counter. But it really hit home the next weekend. Years ago, Soda promised Dad to stop riding rodeo after his ligament got tore up, but the last few months he’d gone back to it. It earned him extra cash, especially since he had a mean reputation for riding the killer broncs and could win lot of bets. He’d said he was doing it to help Darry and Cherry pay for the wedding, but that was done now. Even so, when Saturday rolled around, Soda was up bright and early, dressed in his riding gear._ _

__“You coming?” he asked._ _

__“Sure,” I answered._ _

__Soda drove that bit too fast on the way out to the farm. He parked near the corral where the rodeo was being held and went to register for the competition. I headed for the barns. I’d watch when he rode, of course; but I’d seen enough rodeo over the years it had lost most of its excitement. Maybe if I competed I’d want to watch who I was up against. But I’d never got into it the way Soda had. I bypassed the yearling barn, where they kept the colts they were just starting to break, heading for the paddock where they kept the mares. I always got a kick out of seeing them with their foals: big, placid, round mamas followed by tiny spindly-legged brush-tailed colts and fillies. They were kept all in one field together yet they never got mixed up. We think _people_ are smart but put a crowd of kids together all dressed the same and there’s always some parents can’t tell them apart. Horse mamas _always_ do._ _

__Except today the mares’ paddock just had one horse in it – a stallion. The lead hand, Pete, was leaning against the gate just looking at him: a dark-gold buckskin quarter-horse. Pete and me got on pretty good. I knew him a bit from when Soda had that part-time job at the stables before he left school; and this year, when Soda took up bronc riding again and I started coming round regular, he remembered me._ _

__He nodded at the horse. “Still a beaut isn’t he.”_ _

__I must have looked puzzled ‘cause he laughed. “Forgot old Mickey Mouse, did ya?”_ _

__“What - _him_?” I was astonished. I was just ten when he was sold and Soda bawled his eyes out from losing him. “He’s alive?” _ _

__Pete just laughed. “I guess nobody told you horses can live to 25, maybe even 30 years old. That pony was just a youngster when he got sold years ago. Now he’s in his prime.”_ _

__“How come he’s here?”_ _

__“Back for stud duty.” Pete laughed at me again, “What, didn’t you know that’s why he was so sassy? Stallions always have that cussedness.”_ _

__“He wasn’t ornery for Soda,” I said._ _

__“Nope,” Pete agreed. “Soda does have a way with horses; it’s a pure waste of talent him working in a gas station, I reckon.”_ _

__I knew it was more than just that. Not that Soda didn’t love working with animals; it was what made him such a great bronc rider. But that horse was special. That horse was _Soda’s_ , heart and soul. _ _

__I knew Soda wouldn’t thank me any if I went and told him now. The barrel races were first which gave me time to work with Pete, helping groom the yearlings. Not that they really needed a lot of currying or anything, but they do need to be handled a lot so’s they get used to people. After an hour or so I made my way back to the rodeo corral in time to watch Soda ride. Sure enough he’d been matched to the toughest bronc there was._ _

__“What’s he have to beat?” I asked one of the hands who’d been helping with the chute._ _

__“78”_ _

__My eyebrows raised; that was high. Not that my brother couldn’t beat it on a good day; but if the riding was that good today, and with him seated on Diablo, betting wasn’t a sure thing in this competition. That was a long eight seconds; but in the end he scored 79. Soda was limping as he made his way across to me to watch the two riders after him. They tried, but they were newbies and neither made it the full time._ _

__After he collected his winnings from the bookies, I stopped Soda as he turned toward the car park._ _

__“Come and see.”_ _

__“Na, Pony,” he protested. “I need to soak this leg before it seizes up on me.”_ _

“Just _come_ ,” I insisted. I couldn’t explain to myself why I didn’t want to say anything about Mickey. I guess I just wanted to see the look on his face when he first saw the horse, without any warning. Anyone could see he didn’t want to come with me but I didn’t give him any option; I just set off. 

And it was beautiful – all I wanted it to be – at least for a moment. Soda’s eyes lit up and he climbed up on the paddock fence and leaned out, holding out one hand, and whistled. He always kept sugar lumps in one pocket for the broncs he rode, and he had a couple of pieces left over that he laid flat on his palm. Mickey’s ears pricked and you could tell he was listening and considering what to do. He sidled a bit, and snorted, and then he _turned away_. I guess all the years in between told in the end, and while he may have remembered a bit, he didn’t remember enough. I'd thought it would be like _Lassie_ or _The Black Stallion_ , which shows how stupid I can be. Life ain't like novels. 

__Soda shrugged, trying to make like it was nothing, but the joy had gone out of his eyes. He made polite talk with Pete for a few minutes, then turned away, heading towards the car park._ _

__“I thought he’d remember you,” I said softly._ _

__Soda’s lips twisted in a sort of a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “This is now, Pony – you can’t go back to how it was.”_ _

We walked the rest of the way back to the car in silence. As usual, Soda drove that bit too fast on the way home. He didn’t come in, just threw me some offhand comment, and walked off in the direction of the vacant lot. All these years and _still_ nobody’d built on it. It was like Dally’s ghost sat there glaring at anyone came to look at it so they chose somewhere else. Or maybe it was Johnny’s spirit come to see where his friend died. I know, I know – there’s no such thing as ghosts. But _something_ was stopping the developers and it wasn’t because the city didn’t keep trying to sell it. I could have just gone in the house and done the dishes like I did every Saturday. But what I couldn’t do was go back to not noticing. So after I’d turned a couple of circles arguing with myself and kicking dust, I went after him. 

He was sat leaning against the street light, just looking at his hands. OK, so I’d come after him, but that didn’t mean I knew what to say to him. So I just sat beside him, and kind of leaned into him. After a while he started talking about Sandy: how years ago he’d offered to marry her but she said no, and instead she’d gone away to have his kid, and it was eating him up to know there was a kid out there was his, and he didn’t even know if it was boy or girl. And how he hated working at the garage, and envied Darry ‘cause he had Cherry and a job he liked, and hated himself for feeling that way about his own brother. There was stuff about me too; and he talked about how he missed times when we all did things together, which we didn’t seem to do nowadays. It just went on and on, pouring out of him: all this misery he’d had bottled up for _ages._ Back when Johnny and Dally died I wrote it down but Soda never was much good at books so that wasn’t his way. After a while he kind of ran down and went back to just sitting there looking at his hands. 

And I still didn’t know what to say. That’s what’s the joke: I’m the one they all think is good with words, cause I wrote down Johnny and Dally and Bob’s story. I’m the one with the scholarship to take an English degree. But I’m no bleeding Shakespeare with great speeches coming out on cue that make sense of everything. I hadn’t a clue what to say to Soda. I looked over to my brother and saw the tears trickling slowly down his face. 

“I’m sorry,” I said, which was really kinda lame. My own brother spills his heart and soul and all I can come up with is ‘I’m sorry’? 

“No worries,” said Soda, “it’s just the sun getting in my eyes.”

And then it came to me – not _my_ words but Johnny’s about sunsets, and being golden, and how it had all been worth it, and this time it was the words spilling out of _me_. 

Not that it made everything suddenly be OK. It’s like Soda said: you can’t go back to before. He still hates the garage and doesn’t know about his kid; and he still feels left behind ‘cause life’s been pretty good for Darry and me and not for him. He still misses Sandy. But _we’re_ solid – as a family, I mean; and that lets us stop and look at the sunset and see the good in stuff at least once in a while. So, sometimes, on a weekend, I don’t go out with Cathy, and Cherry leaves Darry behind when she goes over to her folks, and the three of us go out together. We don’t do anything special – just take in a movie or go to the diner. But it’s us three again, like it was back when Mom and Dad died. Maybe you can’t go back to how it was; but at least in this one thing, we could make back then how it is now. 


End file.
